


someday when i'm gone away we'll be all okay

by dendral



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a happy(?) ending, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 12:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11485962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dendral/pseuds/dendral
Summary: In another universe, Obi-Wan Kenobi falls to General Grievous’s blades. In another universe, Obi-Wan Kenobi does not live to see the end of the war. In another universe, Anakin Skywalker hunts down General Grievous, intent on revenge.





	someday when i'm gone away we'll be all okay

**Author's Note:**

> this wasn't supposed to get this long, but here we are. this fic is completely unbeta'd, so apologies for any mistakes.
> 
> Recommended tunes for this fic: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bYPcgCtdP5A

The Force goes frighteningly silent.

Anakin doesn’t know what to make of it. He feels numb, empty, as though his insides have been scooped out and thrown away. The sounds of the dogfight taking place around him are muffled, like someone is covering his ears with cotton.

“...ght! Bank right, General Skywalker, bank right!” breaks through to him over his comm, and without thinking he obeys, jerking the yoke of the starfighter hard. His starfighter turns, slamming him up against the side of its interior. He barely avoids smacking his head against the transparisteel.

“General, are you alright?” asks Ropes.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Anakin says. “Just… something strange happened in the Force, just now.”

“Try to keep your head in the now, sir,” Rex says, and his starfighter pulls up to Anakin’s right side. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t get shot down, and I’m certain General Kenobi wouldn’t be too pleased either.”

“Have we had any word from Obi-Wan on Grievous?” asks Anakin as he moves left, avoiding an oncoming hail of blaster fire. An awful feeling slithers into his gut and churns like a writhing nest of profoggs, all pointy teeth and sharp claws.

“Negative, sir,” Tulip replies, and the feeling gets worse.

With a growl, Anakin jerks his starfighter up and over the wreckage of an exploding droid. He tries to keep his tone light when he says, “It’d be great if he could hurry it up. I’m getting bored out here.”

“How about a little friendly competition, General?” Ropes asks.

“No, absolutely not,” Rex replies, and Catchall and Tulip laugh boisterously as they form up behind Anakin.

“Can’t we, Captain?” Catchall says. “After all, we don’t want the general getting bored, do we?”

“It does sound like it could be fun,” Anakin says.

“I can’t _believe_ you all,” Rex grumbles.

Anakin’s ship comms beep, and a text message is outputted in bold green letters on the screen. He frowns as he reads it, brows furrowing. “Looks like our competition is getting postponed, men. We’re being ordered to retreat.”

“Retreat?” Tulip asks, skeptical. “But we’re winning. Why would we be retreating?”

“Are you questioning orders, Lieutenant?” Rex asks.

“No, sir,” Tulip replies. “Just curious, is all.”

“The order’s from Commander Cody,” Anakin says, feeling the bottom of his stomach drop out. The silence in the Force is overwhelming. “Something’s gone wrong.”

* * *

It’s while she’s in the lower levels of Coruscant, trying to figure out where she’ll go next now that she’s not a Jedi—now that she has no home—that Ahsoka hears the news.

She’s walking past a club—some seedy place that smells overwhelmingly of sweat and alcohol—when she overhears the tail-end of a news report. The uproarious laughter and chatter dies for just a moment, enough that she can catch what’s being said.

All she manages to catch is that something big happened, something so big the future of the Republic is now in question. She doesn’t know the context, though, so she enters the club to find out. The bouncer doesn’t even check her for ID, eyes transfixed on the nearest screen.

Every monitor is playing the same channel. The holonews reporters are repeating the report. Both are sullen; one looks like she’s been crying for hours, eyes red and swollen, a pile of tissues next to her on the table she’s sitting at. The headline fixed in the bottom of every screen says the same thing in bold, white letters atop a blue background: GENERAL KENOBI FALLS IN BATTLE.

Her heart doesn’t stop, but it’s a near thing.

“What?” she asks aloud to no one and pushes past unmoving club goers to get closer to the monitors. She blinks once. Twice. A third time, but the image in front of her doesn’t change, and the headline doesn’t disappear, and the droning of the reporters doesn’t cease.

Eventually, the channel changes, and the club goers return to their previous activities of dancing and drinking, though subdued. Ahsoka stands frozen in her spot, staring blankly at the podrace being broadcast. The world around her feels slowed. She feels like she’s floating, like she’s in some awful dream because only in a nightmare could Master Obi-Wan be gone.

She wishes. She hopes. She prays to the Force that it’s not real, that she’s dreaming. She pinches herself. She leaves the club and wanders aimlessly, wondering if it’s another fucked up mission like Rako Hardeen. She finds another monitor playing a holonews channel and stands inside the damp shop, watching as the story continues to unravel, feeling her throat close up. People push roughly past her—some almost knock her over completely—and she still stands there, unable to force her legs to move, and she hopes desperately that she’ll wake up in her cheap, shitty motel room with its lumpy mattress and its hole-riddled blanket. She hopes desperately that, given enough time, Master Obi-Wan will come back, just like he did before, and he’ll reveal it was all a ruse to fool the Separatists and save lives, and the public will herald him as a hero, will praise him for being willing to do such a terrible thing for the Republic’s sake.

Time moves without her. She wanders to Dex’s place for information, but he has the same thing to tell her every day she goes: it’s real, kiddo. It’s real. He’s gone.

She doesn’t want to believe him.

Two weeks go by and the dream never ends.

Ahsoka realizes with a horrible, aching emptiness in her chest that she’s already wide awake.

* * *

Anakin watches the recording obsessively. He spends hours in the war room, watching it in wrathful silence, pushing back the tears that threaten to spill over. No one bothers him, not even Master Windu or Master Yoda. He doesn’t know if they’re just giving him space (how couldn’t they?), if they’re worried for him (how could they not be?), or if they are afraid (why should they be when they aren’t the ones who killed him?). Anakin notes every detail, memorizes every second. If asked, he could parrot back the entire message that Grievous sent, every inflection of his voice and every emphasized word, every time he coughed and uttered Obi-Wan’s name as though he had any _right_ to do so.

But he’s not interested in that.

He’s not interested in anything Grievous even has to say.

All he cares about is finding him and _killing_ him, and rewatching the recording keeps the anger alive and burning like a wildfire behind his ribs.

It’s like some sick joke, Anakin thinks. He’d been so angry at Obi-Wan before they were shipped out again. The last handful of things he’d ever said to his former master had been full of venom and accusation; he hadn’t had a single word of kindness to give. And Obi-Wan had taken it like he always did, quietly and with a sad look on his face, like he thought he deserved exactly what he was being told.

He had been cruel to his old master. And now he’s dead.

Anakin slams a fist on the war room table. He wishes he could go back. He wishes he could apologize. He wishes—

He wishes Obi-Wan had died like he was supposed to, fighting side-by-side with Anakin. That’s what Anakin had always thought would happen—that they would die together, and their bodies would be laid to rest next to each other in the crypt in the heart of the Jedi Temple.

Instead, there’s not even a body to bury. There’s a body somewhere, maybe, in the wreckage of the battle where Obi-Wan died, but they haven’t found it. Anakin fears they never will.

Perhaps it’s fitting. Perhaps that’s the best place for Obi-Wan now—at rest among the stars because he was nothing less than a star himself, overwhelmingly bright in the Force, so full of Light that sometimes Anakin had to squint just to see him, or else look away to shield his eyes.

But there’s nothing to remember him by. No physical evidence of his time in the galaxy. Not even his lightsaber.

 _Grievous_ has Obi-Wan’s lightsaber. A trophy for his collection. A trophy for him to use against the Jedi.

Anakin’s grip on the table tightens. His metal fingers leave indents. The thought makes him feel sick. Obi-Wan’s lightsaber, being used to kill _Jedi_. Being used to kill _innocents_ , to spill innocent blood. It’s a desecration of everything Obi-Wan held dear and all the ideals of peace and justice he fought for.

He starts the recording over from the beginning.

He will kill Grievous, no matter what it takes.

* * *

(Your name is Obi-Wan Kenobi, and this is how you die:

You catch up to Grievous in the hangar of his ship. It’s a wide, open space. The magnetic shield is already down and predictably, Grievous runs to his personal vessel to make a hasty escape, like all the previous times you’ve faced him. He is beaten but he will not get away. You refuse to lose him again.

You _will_ capture him this time.

You force shove his vessel into the hangar wall and it crumples into a heap, sparking. Grievous skids to a stop and growls. “There’s nowhere to run this time, Grievous,” you say.

Eyes narrowed, Grievous turns to you and ignites his four lightsabers.

You battle. It’s a familiar dance and you’ve fought Grievous enough times that you know how he moves, know what tricks he likes to pull. He can’t break through your defenses and you begin to push him to the back of the hangar.

You swing down and Grievous blocks your blade with two of his. He ducks under his own guard and snags your ankle with one clawed hand. He pulls, sweeping you off your feet, and throws you across the hanger. You hit the ground hard and roll. Your lightsaber slips out of your hand and you slide away from it. Dazed, you push yourself up onto your elbows, then to your knees.

Grievous is already upon you. He grabs you by the neck, hauls you up, and slams you into the ground. The breath leaves your lungs in a rush.

He grabs you again, this time by your tunics. As he walks over to the opening in the hangar, he picks up your dropped lightsaber.

Grievous holds you up against the containment shield that protects the hangar from the vacuum of space and its endless silence. You struggle against his grip but cannot break free.

“Count Dooku wanted you alive,” Grievous rasps in his rattling voice. “But I’ll just tell him you were more trouble than it was worth.”

Pain burns across your chest in a straight, diagonal line, stretching shoulder to hip. It feels like your flesh is on fire and you flail, kicking out and gasping as your vision tunnels. Grievous drops you and you collapse to your knees.

“Any last words, Kenobi?” he says.

You look up and push the smell and feel of your skin cooking to the back of your mind. You reach for the Force and it whispers around you, embraces you. The Force will be with you, always and forever, and it tells you not to be frightened; it will take care of you.

You smirk. “I hope the Count will finally respect you more than he respects me,” you say.

Grievous growls and jams a lightsaber through your chest. You choke on pain as it fills your throat until you cannot breathe, can barely think. You don’t know how to describe how much it hurts; you no longer need to. Dying is more horrifying and more painful than you could’ve ever thought possible, but you aren’t afraid.

You are merely disappointed to realize that you are not dying while fighting by Anakin’s side.

Grievous pulls the lightsaber out of you. Places his foot on your face and shoves.

You fall through the containment shield, your body passing through as though there was nothing there at all.

You’re gone before you can even feel the cold.)

* * *

There are memories everywhere and Anakin can’t escape them, not for long, anyway. He tries—he tries his damndest to stay away from the Temple. He takes mission after mission that sends him far away, far away from the halls that Obi-Wan no longer walks through and the rooms Obi-Wan no longer meditates in and the salles that Obi-Wan no longer trains in because Anakin cannot imagine a Jedi Temple _without_ Obi-Wan.

So he takes himself far away from Coruscant, from his wife’s warm embrace, because even she cannot make the memories of Obi-Wan go away.

At least on missions, on the _hunt_ , the memories leave him alone for a little while.

He obsesses. He watches video after video of Grievous’s fighting, looking for weaknesses in his four-armed technique. He even finds some of Obi-Wan fighting Grievous, his impenetrable defense only broken with a trick or a distraction.

They were always at a stalemate, and Anakin’s own fighting style is woefully unequipped for facing Grievous. If even Obi-Wan couldn’t win, how could Anakin hope to?

So he trains on the ship, against his men, against holograms, against the air. He goes through form after form until his legs and arms are shaking and he’s soaked through with sweat. Sometimes he goes until he collapses and opens his eyes to the glaring lights of the ceiling, Rex kneeling over him with a worried look on his face.

The fifth time it happens, Rex drags him over to a bench and forces a bottle of water into his hands. Rex stands in front of him with his arms crossed, inclines his head at the bottle. He doesn’t move or speak until Anakin has sucked all of it down.

“Permission to speak freely, sir?” Rex says suddenly.

“Of course, Rex,” Anakin replies, and waves a hand. “Go ahead.”

“He wouldn’t want to see you like this,” Rex says bluntly.

“What’re you talking about?” Anakin asks.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know,” Rex accuses. “You know who I’m talking about, sir.”

Anakin looks away, feeling his face heat up with shame.

“You’re killing yourself,” Rex says. “He wouldn’t want that for you. He wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself.”

“How the fuck would you know, Rex?” Anakin growls. “You think you knew him better than me?”

A traitorous voice in the back of his mind whispers that Anakin barely knew Obi-Wan at all, but he pushes it away stubbornly. Of course he knew Obi-Wan. They were a team. The Team.

“That’s not what I’m saying, sir,” Rex says, and he sounds exasperated. “But you seem to have forgotten you’re not the only one who lost him.” Rex spreads his arms out, palms up. “All of us did. The entire damn 212th is lost. Cody’s falling apart and thinks his brothers can’t see it happening. We’re looking to you for guidance and reassurance and… not finding it.”

Rex sighs, drops down on the bench next to Anakin and leans forward, holding his forehead in his hands. He sighs again, a weary, sad sound. “General Skywalker, sir… He’d want you to move on,” Rex murmurs. “You know he would.”

I can’t, Anakin doesn’t say. I can’t forget him, he doesn’t say. I’m afraid if I move on I’ll forget the way he smiled, he doesn’t say.

“I know,” he says instead, and stares at his lap. “I know.”

* * *

(This is how it feels to be Padmé Amidala:

Your husband has left again. He comes and goes like the wind. He stays for a night, wrapping you up in his arms and holding you close as you lay together in bed, then he goes away to fight, and you never know if this will be the time he doesn’t come home. He never smiles anymore. You find it hard to smile too, these days, and you _think_ there was a time when both of you smiled frequently and freely, but those days have passed.

It’s hard to find reasons to smile, nowadays.

The Senate is in disarray still, weeks on. With the loss of Obi-Wan, the Republic is more fearful than ever. The war’s stalemate has broken and the Republic is on the losing side. As senators scramble to reassure their people and prevent uprisings on their own planets, the GAR tries to replace an irreplaceable man.

You had never liked the idea of making the Jedi fight for the Republic. They weren’t military leaders, never had been. The moment Palpatine had gotten emergency powers and declared the war was the moment the Jedi’s fate was sealed.

And look at what it’s cost them, you think.

Look at what it’s cost _you_.

You miss your friend. You miss him _dearly_. You miss Obi-Wan’s dry wit and his effortless charm and his steady companionship. You miss the way Anakin would complain about him in one breath and praise him endlessly in the next. You miss sharing cups of tea with him in Bail’s office as you discuss legislature and exchange political gossip. You miss the way Bail would light up before a visit from Obi-Wan. You miss the ease you felt in his company, how weightless his presence made you feel, as though all the problems of the Senate were far away, and it was just you, Obi-Wan, and Bail laughing over plates of Bail’s homemade Alderaanian kärleksmums and cups of tea made from Obi-Wan’s endless collection.

In the silence of your office and your home, you feel heavy.

The future feels that much bleaker without Obi-Wan to help light it up.)

* * *

Anakin catches up to Grievous eventually.

Predictably, Grievous escapes. He always escapes in the end. The frustration makes Anakin angry, makes the Force around him feel thick like sludge.

He finds Grievous again, and again Grievous escapes. Like in a game of lothcat and mouse, Anakin feels as though he’s being played with, except he’s the lothcat and Grievous the mouse that keeps slipping through his claws, taunting.

The Council doesn’t disapprove of his hunt—if they do, they don’t let it show. They let him take the missions he chooses without complaint. They ask how he is, occasionally, but Anakin has nothing to say to them. He hasn’t had anything to say to them since Ahsoka’s trial.

It takes months, but Anakin finally corners Grievous. They duel on the bridge of Grievous’s flagship, surrounded by smoking, sparking droids resting in pieces on the floor.

Grievous is using Obi-Wan’s lightsaber. Their ‘sabers collide and Grievous leans in, laughing, pressing down against Anakin’s guard. “How does it feel, Skywalker,” he rasps, “to fight against Kenobi’s blade?”

Grievous shoves and Anakin is pushed back. He flips and lands, changes his stance to a guard. He tries not to let the well of rage bubble up and overtake him, but he feels darkness nipping at his heels and it would be so easy to just _give in_.

“How does it feel,” Grievous says, and he starts spinning his blades, whirlwinds of light that Anakin can’t track, “to fight against the blade that _killed_  him?”

Anakin screams. He screams out all his pain, all his anger, all his grief. His vision goes red and he jumps in, striking and lashing and chopping. None of his blows land and he feels angrier, feels more hopeless as he reaches for the Force, feels the darkness of his soul screeching for release. Grievous’s own blades land blows on him, slicing his robes and cutting his skin.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be, Anakin thinks. I’m supposed to be winning, he thinks. I’m supposed to avenge Obi-Wan, he thinks.

Grievous’s claws lash out and catch him by the throat, constricting his breath. Anakin turns off his lightsaber and grasps at the metal arm, tries to pry pointed fingers from his skin but he’s held fast, airways restricted. Dark tendrils claw at the edges of his vision. Grievous throws Anakin against the transparisteel and he collapses against the floor, coughing, sucking air into his lungs.

“How fitting that you should die as your master did,” Grievous chortles. “On your knees, at my feet.”

I can’t win like this, Anakin realizes slowly as Grievous stands over him and raises Obi-Wan’s blade. Its hum fills the air, and Anakin remembers when Obi-Wan’s lightsaber hadn’t been raised against him but for him, and he thinks of Obi-Wan standing over him on the battlefield, deflecting blast bolts and protecting him because Anakin needed protecting. He remembers Obi-Wan doing the same for countless other beings because he believed in giving his own life to protect someone else’s.

He thinks of how bright blue Obi-Wan’s lightsaber was when he wielded it. Like Naboo’s skies on a sunny, cloudless day.

Obi-Wan wouldn’t want vengeance. He wouldn’t want Anakin to defeat Grievous _for_  him. He’d want Anakin to do it because lives would be saved. Because they’d be one step closer to ending the war.

Because it’s the right thing to do.

Anakin closes his eyes. He reaches for the Force. He raises his lightsaber, feels hands over his and a presence just over his shoulder, like when he was a child and Obi-Wan was showing him the proper way to hold a training ‘saber in the salles.

“Have faith,” he hears, and he does.

He slices upwards.

Grievous yells. Anakin opens his eyes. One of Grievous’s arms—the one that held Obi-Wan’s lightsaber—is on the floor, still twitches as the last impulses shoot through its wires. Anakin reaches out and calls the lightsaber to his hand.

It feels familiar. Its weight, its worn grip, its shape.

He could never forget it, even if he tried to.

Last time he used two lightsabers it hadn’t went well, but—Anakin must try.

The fight doesn’t last long. Anakin doesn’t know what he expected, but he wins, and the killing blow is with Obi-Wan’s lightsaber, like it was always meant to be. Grievous falls before him and takes his last, shuddering breath at Anakin’s feet before going still.

The victory feels hollow.

* * *

“I’m not giving it to you,” Anakin says, standing tall in the center of the Council Chamber, glaring defiantly at the Council members present.

Master Windu raises a brow. “Not giving what to us?” he asks.

“Obi-Wan’s lightsaber,” Anakin says, lifting his chin. He wants to dare them to challenge him. Dare them to try and take it from him.

Master Koon looks surprised. “We weren’t going to ask for it,” he says.

That isn’t what Anakin expected. Shocked, he asks, “Wait, why?” He then wants to punch himself for asking.

With a grunt, Master Yoda gets out of his chair and walks up to Anakin, each step punctuated by the tap of his gimer stick. He stops in front of Anakin and smiles up at him.

“Think of no better place for young Obi-Wan’s lightsaber, we can,” Master Yoda tells him, then hobbles through the doors.

Master Windu sighs. “Meeting adjourned,” he announces, and gets up. Anakin is rooted to the spot, staring at the place Master Yoda had been standing in front of him, brows furrowed in confusion. He looks up when Master Windu pauses next to him. Master Windu rests a hand on Anakin’s shoulder for just a moment before nodding and following Master Yoda out the door.

It feels a little bit like benediction.

* * *

The war ends.

The news breaks alongside the news of Chancellor Palpatine being a traitor. He had been feeding information to the Separatists, the news reports, and the Hero with No Fear brought the traitor to justice himself. He is to stand trial. If past trials are anything to go by, he will be executed.

Ahsoka doesn’t know the full story, but she knows enough to know that the news doesn’t have it either. She wonders what the truth is, and she has her suspicions, but she decides she doesn’t want to know, not really. All she knows is the repeated times Master Obi-Wan had said, “something feels wrong,” after being in Chancellor Palpatine’s presence and how much it must be crushing Anakin to know one of his closest, most trusted friends was betraying them all along.

She wants to see him. Talk to him.

Before, she was too afraid to reach out. Before, she feared what would happen if she did. Mostly, she was too afraid to go back to the Temple; too afraid to see her former home, too afraid of the ghosts that would haunt her there.

But now, the war is over. Anakin is home on Coruscant.

The war, she has to remind herself, is over.

Ahsoka calls Padmé and asks her if she can meet up with Anakin at her apartment. Padmé readily agrees, tells Ahsoka that he’s missed her, he’ll be glad to see her. They set up the meeting for two days from now and Ahsoka promises to be there.

Two anxiety filled days pass. Ahsoka finds herself standing at the door to Padmé’s personal apartments, debating whether or not to knock.

But she promised. She promised she’d be here. She wanted this.

Ahsoka knocks.

The door opens and standing there is Anakin, looking disheveled. Ahsoka cracks a weak smile. “Hi, Skyguy,” she manages before he scoops her up into a bone-crushing hug, lifting her feet off the ground.

“Hey, Snips,” he says, voice muffled in Ahsoka’s shoulder, and she wants to laugh, but mostly she wants to cry, because he’s _alive_ , she can still feel his love for her in the Force, can feel how happy he is to see her. She’s happy to see him too.

He sets her down and ushers her inside, leads her over to a lavish dinner table and sits her down in one of the cushioned chairs. “Wait here, I’ll get us something to eat,” he says, then vanishes into another room before she can get a word in.

She folds her hands together on the table and bounces her leg, tries not to feel horribly out of place among the expensive decor and the elaborately stitched tablecloth when she’s wearing clothing she haggled for and repaired on her own.

Anakin arrives with plates with pastries, probably from Naboo. The smell of them makes her mouth water. He sets a plate down in front of her and takes his own seat across the table from her. She nods her thanks and picks what she wants from the selection.

Anakin doesn’t say anything for a while, merely watches her as she eats.

When she finally finishes, he says, “I’m glad you stopped by.”

“Yeah,” she says. “Me too. I’ve missed you.” And Master Obi-Wan, she doesn’t say.

“I’ve missed you so much, Ahsoka,” Anakin says, his voice thick. “And I want you to know, I’m really, really proud of you. And… And Obi-Wan was too. Still would be, if he could see you now.”

Ahsoka stands. She walks around the table to his side and wraps her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. She shudders. His arms come up to clutch at her shoulders, curling solidly around her back.

“I didn’t want to believe it,” Ahsoka says. “But I kept going to Dex’s and asking and it was the same thing every time.” She takes a shaky breath. “He’s really gone. I can’t believe he’s really gone. I didn’t even get to… I didn’t get to say…” She breaks off with a strangled noise.

She had wanted to say thank you.

She hadn’t even known she wanted to until he was already gone.

“Yeah,” Anakin croaks, and Ahsoka starts crying. “He’s gone. I still can’t believe it either.”

“It’s not fair,” Ahsoka sobs. “He was supposed to make it. He was supposed to see peace.”

“I know,” Anakin replies, and it sounds like he’s crying as well. “I wish he could’ve.”

* * *

“Master Yoda,” Anakin greets. “May I speak to you privately?”

Master Yoda glances up, then nods. “Of course, young Skywalker. Come, come.” He gestures for Anakin to follow him. They make their way through the halls—still more empty than they should’ve been, and Anakin wonders if they’ll ever be as busy as they were before the war—and to the gardens. Master Yoda takes a seat on the steps in front of the Force tree. He pats the space next to him and Anakin takes a seat.

Anakin had rehearsed what he wanted to say in his head for days, but now that he’s going to say it, he doesn’t remember the words.

“Retire from the Council, I will,” Master Yoda says.

Anakin glances over at the old master. “Really? May I ask why?”

“Old, I am,” Master Yoda says. “Planned to retire years ago, I did, but needed, I was, when the war started. Asked to stay, I was.” He hums and lays his gimer stick across his lap.

“Rest, I need,” he continues, and looks up at Anakin with a smile. “Grown much you have, young Skywalker. Offer you a place on the Council, I would like to.”

And Anakin understands the gravity of the request, how important such an offer is, but…

“I am honored, Master Yoda,” he says and looks away. “But I cannot accept such a position.”

Master Yoda’s ears quirk. “Reached an important decision, you have, hm?”

“Yes,” Anakin admits. “I wish to leave the Order. I have realized my path is not with the Jedi.”

“Hm,” Master Yoda grunts. “Disappointed, I am, but understand I do. Not for everyone, the path of a Jedi is. Came to this conclusion long ago, you did, yes?”

“I did.”

“Honor your vows to Senator Amidala you will, then?”

Anakin starts. “Wait. You knew? How did—”

Master Yoda starts laughing. “Knew, I did. Subtle you are not, young Skywalker. Knew of it, Obi-Wan did as well, from the beginning. Hoped, we did, that realize two different vows you could not keep. Too important, each are, to split your loyalty between.”

Then he sighs, a sad sound. “Selfish, we were. Needed you to fight, we did. Broken our vows all Jedi have in this war.”

“I’m sorry,” Anakin says. “I would stay and help rebuild, but…”

“For what is in your heart, do not apologize, young Skywalker,” Master Yoda says, smiling again. “Beautiful, young love is. Take our vows, we do, so that others may exist in peace. But jailers, the Jedi are not. Free to leave, everyone is.”

Anakin doesn’t know what to say. He’d been prepared for disappointment, resentment. He expected to be thrown out. He hadn’t expected this. “Thank you, Master Yoda,” he says, and means it. He unclips his lightsaber and Obi-Wan’s and gives them to the old master. Master Yoda holds them up, investigates them.

He lifts them with the Force and opens them up, extracts the kyber crystals, then seals them again. The crystals fall into his outstretched claws. “Keep the frames, you may,” he tells Anakin. “With a crystal, a weapon the lightsaber is. But without a crystal, merely a shell, it is.”

Anakin accepts the lightsaber frames, cradles them in his hands with reverence. He stands and bows deep. “May the Force be with you, Master Yoda,” he says.

“May the Force be with you, Anakin Skywalker,” Master Yoda says.

* * *

(This is how you, Anakin Skywalker, finally make peace with Obi-Wan’s death, mere weeks after the war ends:

Out of the blue, you decide to give meditation an honest shot. You want to honor Obi-Wan's teachings, try to do the one thing you always stubbornly refused to all your life.

You go to the Room of a Thousand Fountains and sit under Obi-Wan’s favorite tree. You sit in silence for a while and work on clearing your mind, on calming the ever-present noise in your head. You focus on counting your breaths: inhale one two three, exhale one two three. Repeat. You go through your tumultuous emotions and you analyze them; you search for where they came from and you find their causes and you accept how and why they exist, and then you let them go. It’s a struggle, but you manage it.

With your mind now quiet for once in your life, you tap into the Force.

You open your eyes to a field. The sky is bright, blinding blue and long green grass spreads out for miles and miles around you, ebbing back and forth in the wind. The air smells sweet, like flowers, and you inhale and think of Padmé and her expensive perfume.

“I’m so proud of you,” a voice says at your right, and you turn to look. Obi-Wan sits next to you, cross-legged and palms open upwards, fingers curling loosely. He looks relaxed, the lines in his face smoothed away. There’s a small smile on his lips as he gazes out across the open field in front of you both.

“Obi-Wan,” you say, your voice cracking. He looks at you with those gentle blue eyes, eyes you haven’t seen in forever and you choke out a sob, reach out with a shaking hand to touch his face.

He lets you do so and cradles your palm against his cheek, and he feels warm, feels alive.

“I’m proud of you,” he says again. “And I’m sorry for what happened.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” you say. “You didn’t know.”

“I’m sorry nevertheless,” he replies.

You take him in, scan your eyes over every inch of him, try to burn this image into your brain forever: Obi-Wan smiling, no longer weighed down by exhaustion and grief, no longer sad in the eyes. Obi-Wan, with a fond expression on his face, hair greying at his temples, looking content, looking rested. You don’t want to forget this—don’t want to go the rest of your life without remembering how Obi-Wan looked when he was finally at peace.

“It hurt, didn’t it?” you ask. “Dying, that is.”

One corner of Obi-Wan’s lips quirk up. “Of course it did,” he says.

“Were you afraid?” you whisper.

Obi-Wan tilts his head. Hums. “No,” he says. “I was disappointed.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t get to die fighting by your side.”

Your heart stutters. Your throat closes up. You feel tears in your eyes, hot and burning.

“I'm glad to have lived and fought alongside you,” Obi-Wan says. He moves so he faces you, kneeling, and he gently leads your hand away from his face. He clasps it between his own hands in his lap, warm and reassuring. “Thank you for all you've done, and all you will do. I'll always be with you, Anakin—just look to the Force, and you will find me."

“I love you,” you say, frantic and desperate, because you need him to know. You need him to know before he’s gone forever, before you lose your chance. “I love you, Master. I did. I still do. I will, no matter how much time passes. Thank you. For everything.”

Obi-Wan smiles again. “I love you too. I always have, and I always will.” He stands and your hand slips out of his. “May the Force be with you always, my friend.” You reach for him again, not quite certain what it is you want, and you watch as Obi-Wan’s body breaks apart, shattering into thousands of vibrant blue flower petals, blue like Naboo’s cloudless skies. The petals scatter, dancing across the endless green grass.

“May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan,” you whisper to the wind.

You open your eyes to the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Your cheeks are wet. You wipe your face with the backs of your hands. You feel more tears stinging your eyes, but you don’t feel sad.

In fact, you’ve never been more at peace.)

* * *

“C’mon Luke, Leia. Not much farther to go,” Anakin calls and adjusts his grip on his satchel. His children sprint up the hill after him, faces pink with exertion and laughter. They’re five, now, and their faces are still squishy and their bodies are wiry and thin and full of energy, and sometimes Anakin doesn’t think he can keep up with them. He already misses the extra pairs of hands Ahsoka and her girlfriend provide.

“Dad,” Leia says, grasping his hand and tugging, “where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“You said that a hundred times!” Luke complains. “I’m tired.”

“Well, I’ll carry you, then,” Anakin says and crouches down to pick Luke up, but Luke crosses his arms and pouts.

“No!” he protests. “I can do it by myself.”

“Suit yourself,” Anakin shrugs. “Leia, do you want Daddy to carry you?”

“Yes!” Leia says. She giggles as Anakin hefts her up and settles her on his shoulders. She grips his hair and yanks, but he doesn’t mind. He’s gotten used to it.

“I wanna go up,” Luke says and points at Leia.

“I thought you wanted to walk on your own,” Anakin replies. “Leia’s already got your spot. Guess you’ll have to be faster next time, Luke-y.”

Luke glares up at his twin from the ground. “Fine,” he huffs and crosses his arms.

Anakin laughs and offers a hand to his son. Luke begrudgingly takes it and follows his father along the path.

They enter the gardens, a ways off from their estate on Varykino, and go into the cemetery. It’s not too severe a hike that Anakin is worried about getting both of the kids home safely, and Padmé had insisted he take them by himself. “Go spend some time alone with them,” she’d said. “They need quality dad time.”

Anakin leads them to a blank marker in a secluded corner, surrounded by bushes of blue flowers, and sets Leia down on the grass. She runs to Luke and they start a conversation that Anakin pays no attention to. He puts his satchel down and pulls a blanket from it, settles it over the grass and lays out the sandwiches and snacks. The kids have wandered off, reading off the words etched onto other gravestones.

“Lunch is ready, kids,” he says, and they come running over and flop onto the cloth.

“Why are we here?” Leia asks.

“See this grave?” Anakin asks, pointing to the blank marker.

“Yeah,” Luke says. “Why’s there no name?”

Anakin smiles sadly. “It’s for your Uncle Obi-Wan. You remember the stories I told you about him, right?”

Leia nods. “He was the bravest person ever to exist ever,” she says.

“Yes,” Anakin laughs. “He was. He isn’t buried here, but I still wanted to bring you here to say hello to him.”

“If he’s not here, how will he hear us?” Leia asks, ever perceptive.

“Don’t worry,” Anakin says. “He’ll hear you.”

Luke crawls over to the empty headstone. “Hi, Uncle Obi-Wan,” he says. “I don’t know you but I’m glad you were friends with Daddy.”

“Daddy told us all about you,” Leia adds. “He told us _all_ the stories, but my _favorite_ is the story about…”

Leia launches into a retelling of a mission Anakin had told her about, one of the many kid-friendly and epic adventures in which Obi-Wan had been the hero of the day, and Anakin can’t help the grin spreading across his lips.

Obi-Wan would’ve loved them. Anakin knows he would’ve. And he knows Luke and Leia would’ve adored him too.

If this moment is anything to go by, they already do.


End file.
